But to our Tale: ae Market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right,
Fast by an ingle bleezing finely,
Wi' reamin swats that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a very brither
They had been fou for weeks thegither. ----
The night drave on wi' sangs & clatter,
And ay the ale was growing better:
The